


Nothing Remains of Those From My Mind

by MaddenedMassacre



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Depression, Horror, Hurt No Comfort, Multi, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Psychological Horror, Short Stories, Shorts, Thriller, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 22:28:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29973243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddenedMassacre/pseuds/MaddenedMassacre
Summary: I personally believe that all thoughts come from existing memories, some of those memories not even our own.In "Nothing Remains of Those From My Mind" we take a look at stories that crawled out of my mind and screamed at the keyboard until their thoughts appeared.stories really do write themselves, dont they?





	1. Her Sweet Melody

Everyday from noon to dusk for the past three years she’s been playing the piano in the room next door, and everyday from dusk to dawn for the past three years I have been trapped in this room by my lonesome. Lonely, if not for the somber melody she preaches at the same time everyday for the same amount of time. Noon to dusk, Sunrise to sunset. A pattern where infinite possibilities exist yet only one outcome remains. The hours are long and hard, but her piano gives me peace of mind and a hope for escape. A pattern where infinite attempts to end my own life exist, yet only one outcome remains. I live. I live for the melody she breathes and the soft mumbles of a voice she plays from noon to dusk everyday. Everyday I find myself drifting further away from reality and closer to her melody. A melody in which I long to hold and a girl I live to hear. I live to hear her as much as I wish to hold her.

In my dreams, now lasting from dusk to noon as a means of not missing the melody, I dream of the sweet embrace of the girl beyond these walls and melody she plays. The melody she plays in which I wish to hold as much as I do her. Will the melody ever end? Will being trapped here ever end? I do not know, for all I know is that I must listen to the melody I have been gifted with and hope for the day I am gifted of the sight of the girl playing the saddened tune. By the gods I do love her, I love the girl I have yet to meet. She breathes hope into my mind just as she plays a melody into my ears. Into my ears the melody drifts along with the muffled voice of the girl I love.

One day I awaken to find the door to my cage opened, the room now much larger as beyond the door it extends into a hall of music and melodies beyond my wildest dreams. I rush to my feet and down the hall, the melody growing louder as I approach the door at the other end where my love is hidden. I stop a mere two inches from the door and place my ear against the door and listen. The music is so loud, yet the presence of my love being nearby is louder. Louder, as I reach for the knob as a grin reaches my face. I push the door open and barge in, ready to finally meet the love of the life, my reason for living-

Only to find a blaring television screen in her place.


	2. Spider Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story came to me after I met a spider while working in my basement, at first I tried to kill it but I soon realized that it was doing no harm so I left it be.

The young boy at the workbench and sewed quickly and skillfully with nimble hands. The basement around him was cold and damp yet a sort of warmth radiated from the boy despite the fact he was freezing. He’d been working for months sewing whatever patterns he could with whatever fabric he could find in the dim lower levels, wishing that the tinted window would let even the smallest of sunlight in. Mostly there was nothing more than old dirty clothes, usually too big or too small for the boy to wear on his own. Yet he learned to make them smaller or bigger. He learned how to make things work. One day, he was sewing a hole closed in some pants when the floor above him creaked and groaned with the steps of his beloved family. He glanced behind himself toward the steps. He watched with anxious eyes to see if the door would open, but it never did. The footsteps turned from the door and moved away. Leaving the young man In silence once more. He turned back only to gasp and release his needle and hold on the pants, dropping them and moving back from the table. 

Amongst his spare fabrics and threads sat a pale yellow-ish spider who froze upon being spotted. The young man’s first instinct was fear, as most reactions would me. He reached down for his shoe only to remember last minute that they had worn down weeks ago past the point of wearing. He glanced up, witnessing the spider take a few steps before stopping once it realized it had been seen.

“Go away!’ the boy cried out just above a whisper. “I cannot work with an audience of your kind.” but the spider did not hear. It carefully crawled on top of the pants he was mending and laid down, getting nice and cozy before drifting to sleep. The boy’s stomach growled, but he pushed it away for later. He inched closer to the spider, lounging amongst the fabrics and threads. He reached over to his needle and raised it high, ready to swing down and be rid of the spider once and for all. But the spider was quicker, It awoke and moved quickly out of the way. It did not speak, yet it looked at the boy with words indescribable being spoken.

He lowered the needle slowly and sat it down, before planting himself in his chair. “I’m sorry” the boy apologized. “You’re like me, you live here in the dark and damp. You only wanted a soft place to rest.” The spider didn’t move, only watched as the boy begged to be forgiven. “As an apology, I will make you a soft pillow to lay on.” the boy nodded to the spider, before getting the work. Using the pants he’d been mending as fabric to sew a pleasant place for the spider to rest.

Two weeks later and the pillow was finished. The boy had heard no more creaking throughout the creation of the pillow and spoke at a comfortable volume to the spider on the wall. “I have finished your pillow, spider” he smiled “Please come try it?” The spider gracefully descended the wall and unto the pillow where he laid and rested. He looked up at the boy, and while he did not speak the boy was certain the spider was happy. Having finished his project he looked around for more fabric to start a new creation, but could not find more than a couple of scraps. He looked at the scraps, and then to the half a spool of thread he had left, and then to his needle which appeared worse for wear. He smiled a soft yet sad smile and moved back to his bench where he began to sew all the scraps together and embroider a, in his opinion, beautiful pattern unto it. 

Hours later, he finished. He moved across the cold cement floor, his cold feet that were blackened with dirt never getting used to the cold despite how long it had been. He moved over to the tinted window high off the ground and gazed up at it. It was too dark to see out on his side, but he hoped that someone on the other side would be able to gaze in. He hung the pattern, just barely seeing as it was high up, in front of the window before standing back to gaze up at it. He wiped at his eyes, a sudden tiredness making itself present for the first time in a while. He moved back to the bench and looked at the pillow where the spider rested before moving a short distance away and curling up on the cold and rough floor. He wondered how it felt to lay on something as soft as the pillow, but he couldn’t bring himself to envy the spider. For it had lived down here longer than him and was more worthy of the comfort than him.

The boy closed his eyes and smiled. There was a certain thrill in resting when you should be working, he would come to realize. The boy slept.

  
  
  
  


Detective Anderson felt great tiredness as he pulled into the driveway of an old decrepit house that at the moment happened to be surrounded by police cars. The flashing lights gave the older man a migraine as he stepped out of his vehicle, his grey and greasy hair momentarily turning red and blue due to the reflection of the flashing lights. As he approached the house, a rookie cop he recognized from the station weeks ago hurried up to him.

“What’s the deal?” Anderson spoke grumpily, Hoping to return home soon and indulge himself in a basketball game and whiskey. “Three hours ago we got a call from some guy saying there might be someone trapped in the house.” The young cop, Aaron, held out a file to the elder man who snatched it quickly. It contained pictures of the houses’ previous owners, and how it must have looked when they bought it. “The family moved out years ago,” Aaron mentioned as Hank’s eyes skimmed over the family in the pictures. “So no one should have been in the house.” Hank glanced up at him. “Shouldn’t be, doesn’t mean people will listen to that.” Aaron looked as if he was about to speak when another officer, a young woman with autumn hair that looked youthful in comparison to Hank’s greying hair and even in comparison with Aaron’s dark brown locks. 

“They found something, In the basement.” She spoke out of breath, a concerned look on her face. Aaron and Hank glanced in each other’s directions before following the woman into the house that looked like it could collapse at any minute. Moments later Hank was pushing open a creaky old wooden door with a busted door handle- no doubt caused by the officers on sight- and carefully stepping down rackety and broken steps. The first thing that Hank could see in the darkness was an old workbench, it’s color being somewhere between a mix of teal and lime that could faintly be seen under all of its rust. He approached the bench and looked it over. Empty spools of thread lined the upper shelf on it that looked busted and near falling off purely from the amount of decay and rust accumulated on it that had eaten away at the metal underneath. An old sewing needle lay snapped in half in the middle of it all, and next to it a small purple pillow with several white laces lining its seams. Hank took notice of how cold and empty the pillow seemed. Something about the pillow being empty felt wrong to the man.

“Detective, over here!” Aaron called out from a few feet away, himself and several other officers huddled around something removed from his view. He approached, looking at Aaron. “What exactly is-” upon seeing Aarons distraught look he followed his gaze to the floor in front of him. Laying curled up on the floor was the impossibly small body of a child, possibly even a teenager. With the body’s size, it was impossible to tell. “Jesus christ..” Hank trailed off. Aaron shook his head and walked the other direction, not having the stomach to see the boy. Hank’s eyes trailed the boy’s body from his blackened and shriveled feet up to his cold pale face. The smile on the boy’s face would be the source of his nightmares for weeks to come. His cheeks had hollowed in, no doubt from hunger, but the closed and tightlipped smile on his face still remained long after rigor mortis had begun.

“Detective…” Aaron’s voice whimpered from across the basement. The Detective reluctantly turned to the rookie, who held a small, six inches by three inches at most, piece of fabric that upon closer inspection appeared to be several smaller pieces sewn together. The detective approached just in time to see tears well up in the rookie’s eyes as he shoved the fabric roughly toward the detective who took it just as quickly. He glanced down at the fabric, focusing first at the intricate pattern embroidered, and lastly at the words sewn into the center.

_ “Please help me” _

The words bore into him from the fabric below and he thought he would be sick. His feet felt weak, and he leaned against the wall trying to fight off the dizziness and nausea rising in him. The family had moved out years ago, so just how long had the boy been down here? How long had the door to the basement been locked? Hank thought back to his own son at home, his brain ushering him to tell himself to give his boy a hug when he got home, he sighed and looked around the small basement that seemed crowded just by the air within it.

  
  


Detective Anderson glanced up the wall just in time to see two spiders duck behind the rafters and into a crack in the wall where the sun peeked through,leading to the outside.

He would see the sun once more. 


	3. Pyromania

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This poem came about after I accidentally lit my bed on fire, I got it out safely but there's now a large hole in my bed reminding me of it all the time, and I laugh.

Sometimes I light things on fire just to smell them or look at the flame

Demonic,destructive, and in some instances cursed but still beautiful all the same

The dark smoke does not smell as well and the grey smoke

But the dark smoke usually comes from the hardest burning fires

It snap crackles and pops in an enchantingly terrifying way

So unpredictable,easily catching

mess up once and it ends up bigger than intended 

And suddenly it’s too late, and everything is gone

And there is no water, just hope

And it gets bigger and bigger 

Until it’s container starts to melt

And the flame goes  _ out _

And the smoke, sometimes good sometimes bad, sometimes smells wonderful sometimes smells like defeat

It rises, and It doesn’t stop rising either.

It fills up the whole room, but yet no alarms go off

Because there are none.

The room where the flame burns the brightest, there is no alarm.

No one ever talks about the sound fire makes.

Or how it moves, they only care about what It destroys

But not me, rather than thinking about what It’s destroying, I rather think about how it looks

How It smells

How it Feels.

How It stops.

They are charred and crisp and I, lighter held proudly in one hand, am pure


	4. Acceptance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when I was younger I was prone to hallucination, I remember one time I turned around and saw that the kitchen was on fire. The fire lasted for only a second or two before it was gone. It horrified and intrigued me at the same time. I wonder if that's why I'm so obsessed with fire?

Back a very, very long time ago.. Derrick Was 16, maybe 17? 18? 19? He doesn’t remember. You see, as a child Derrick loved to play with fire. He always found it beautiful, in a destructive manner. One day, all those years ago, Derrick set a tree in a forest on fire just to watch. Just to see how the leaves turned black and how the bark turned crisp before falling away. So caught up in his destruction he didn’t realize how much smoke he was inhaling, and soon passed out. But that's not where this ended, not even close.

Derrick always had a couple issues growing up, but nothing that he would ever think to bring up to everyone. He thought that everyone could see what he saw. The fire. He woke up a day later in the hospital after a coughing fit roused him from his sleep. His mother was at his bedside, worried and Derrick could see the disappointment in her eyes. He cried to her that night. The next morning she was gone, left to do what she needed to do to earn the income to pay for hospital bills. Derrick spent that morning watching the news of the fire, how it couldn’t be put out and just kept spreading.

Derrick, too engrossed in what he’d seen all his life, didn’t understand why everyone was so upset about this fire. In his eyes it was beautiful. Later that morning he was offered new clothes, seeing how tattered and burnt his old ones were, he wore the two-sizes too big nurses scrub and shorts provided as he stared out the window. Spoke billowed miles away from the trees.

The third day there his mother told him she’d taken up two new jobs and wouldn’t be able to visit as much. He never saw her again after that.

The fourth day, he woke late morning-early noon and sat up and decided he’d rather move around then sit in bed all day. He was careful to remove the IV in his arm, carefully hanging it up on the IV stand and exited the room, the cold of the hospital and the sterile smell of equipment burnt his nose. He coughed into his arm, pain stinging in his sides as he did so. He was quick to close the door behind himself and step into the beige hallway. He made a ninety degree turn to the left and began to sluggishly move down the hall, making an effort to stop and look at the paintings. One painting in particular caught his eyes. Through all the smoke he could see the dull oil painting depicting a nude dark skinned woman covered in moss and trees, her brown eyes seemed to bore into his. The painting itself, being dated over 100 years old if the plaque on the wall near it meant anything, was captioned simply as “Mother.” Seemingly referring to Mother Nature. He raised a hand to the glass protecting the painting and placed it near the caption. 

“Excuse me sir? Are you a patient here?” A kind voice spoke behind him, making him remove his hand quickly and turn leaving a handprint on the glass. 

“Um...yes.” He nodded along to his statement “room 423” he answer softly. She nodded “would you mind returning to your room? We’d like to see that all patients are accounted for” she placed a hand on his shoulder, and led him back to his room. He had just sat on the bed when the door clicked shut behind the nurse. He glanced up at the TV, where the mayor debated evacuating buildings in the burn-zone of the fire if they failed to put it out, the mayor decided against it. That didn’t bother Derrick.

The fifth day, Derrick sat up and looked out the window. Noting how close the smoke from the trees was he shrugged. It didn’t bother him before and it wouldn’t bother him now. The room was dark, and Derrick didn’t bother to turn on the lights. He stared out the window for what seemed like hours before the door opened and the light flicked on. The same nurse from the day before closed the door behind her and moved toward Derrick, before placing an orange bottle of pills down on the bedside table.

“Hi Derrick,” she smiled, “your doctor prescribed some antibiotics for your chest to get rid of that nasty cough.” He nodded and gave a curt “Thank you” before the nurse gave a reassuring smile and left the room. Later that day, the power went out, leaving only the emergency lights to keep the halls lit. That night he wandered the dark halls and investigated the janitors closet, pocketing an old box of matches for safe keeping. He returned to his room for the night afterward.

The sixth day, he was awake early to walk the halls and spend approximately one whole hour staring at the “mother” painting down the hall. He passed a woman sobbing in the halls, cradling a rosary in her hands. He watched until the woman left, dropping and leaving the rosary behind that he quickly retrieved. He returned to his room and sat on the bed, before picking up the bottle. He placed the rosary around his neck before laying down, he slept for the rest of the day.

The seventh and last day of the week, started and ended in chaos. He woke at approximately 10 am to the screams of doctors,nurses and patients alike. He could feel a familiar heat. Derrick sat up and looked around at the smoke in the room before sliding out of bed and going into the hall. He felt the water from the sprinklers above hitting him gently but doing nothing to get rid of the flames around him. People screamed and pushed past him, heading the direction opposite of his destination. He found himself in a deserted staff-staircase. He slowly climbed the stairs downward, the flames around him too familiar to be afraid of. As he reached the middle of the last set of steps he glanced up out the window at the flames and heat engulfing the building.

“Derrick!” A familiar voice called to him from the emergency exit at the bottom of the staircase. “We have to leave, the building has gone up in flames from the forest fire!” She pleaded with him. It suddenly hit him how much she resembled the woman in the painting he could remember so clearly. Mother. Fire engulfed the staircase, but Derrick didn’t seem worried. 

“You see the flames too?” He asked just above a whisper

Mother nodded, pleading with him to exit with her, telling him that he had another chance.

He looked around before swiftly turning and gracefully walking up the steps.

“It’s always like this for me” he whispered, 

but Mother was already gone


End file.
